The Golden River

(Image : The Little Book of the Goddess, altered calendar, SG, 06)

 

 

 

 

 

 I finally turned my back
on the Path Which Doesn´t Lead Anywhere.

And though I felt lonely,
I felt free.
And the little brook sang and sang,
And the bees frollicked around me,
And my blood turned to a golden river.

The Raku Bowl

Or : The perfection of imperfection.

A friend of mine told me that she had been angry with me because I hadn´t been as perfect as she expected. Good gods!

I own my imperfection as one of those precious Japanese bowls which, when they break, are mended with pure gold.

I have been burned in God´s oven. After all these years, I have become a humble Raku bowl.

The flames of God´s mercy have polished me to a deep black sheen. My imperfect shape is the unsuspected result of many alchemical operations; so many hugs, by so many little arms.

I look like nothing; but I am strong, useful. I have a certain beauty. I have been used, I have been touched many times. I belong. Imperfect, irregular, unique. The chinks on my sides have been repaired with gold.

I am a treasure.

See?

Divine perfection is not always what one expects…

I Stand in the Middle

(Image :”Atlantis Rising”, Mixed Media, 2008)

I see beauty over me. I see beauty under me. I see beauty inside me.

I see beauty over the horizon.
I see beauty under the horizon.

My heart is in love with the world.

I stand in the middle of it. I stand at the middle. I stand.

And I know, in my heart of hearts

That whatever happens to Humanity

I will live on

in the rocks

in the trees

in the sky

in the earth

in the water

Most of all,

I will live on in the fire.

When I´m dead, body long gone

Soul roaming the heavenly prairies,

When you see the glow of fire,

If you are still there :

…remember me!

I will always be

A living part of the planet

Whether alive or dead,

I will be there.

This little human ant is nothing,

but fully awake in her brain,

God´s Dream for his Creation lives on.

And thus,

Something in the little ant

Spans Time and Space,

And laughs its joyful awareness -

For, what we really are

Transcends the ant-heap.

The sun, that rises each day over the horizon;

The stars, shining in the dark night;

The blessed waters, the fog, the rocks and the seeds;

Earth´s rythms

Will ignore us,

Unless we awake from our collective nightmare.

I stand in the middle of it all,

And my tears are for the useless suffering,

Not for the mountain on which I live.